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<title>Ring-a-ring-a-roses by charlotte123456789</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29380287">Ring-a-ring-a-roses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotte123456789/pseuds/charlotte123456789'>charlotte123456789</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harry Potter One-Shots [36]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dark, Evil, Evil Child, Gen, grave robbing, graves, graveyard, he needs help</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:55:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29380287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotte123456789/pseuds/charlotte123456789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ring-a-ring-a-roses, a pocket full of posies." he sang as he skipped through the graveyard.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harry Potter One-Shots [36]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ring-a-ring-a-roses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He skipped along the grass between the graves, occasionally stopping to peer at one headstone, then another, before continuing on.</p><p>He sang as he skipped, his hauntingly sweet tune carried away by the slight breeze. “Ring-a-ring-a-roses. A pocket full of posies,” he paused in his singing to peer down at the next grave he had come across. His singing of posies was a poetic match as he saw the withered remains of some lying undisturbed by the headstone. Such a pity how the way of life played to take away the beauty of everything until there remained nothing more than shriveled husks of what once had been.</p><p>No, he was a beauty and he was going to live forever. He knew it. He just had to find the right grave first. Then he could properly begin.</p><p>He arose once more, moving on from the grave and skipping away.</p><p>“A tissue, a tissue. We all fall down.” He fell down with a quiet sigh of laughter beside another grave, silken ribbons in tatters tied to the headstone. What had once looked a stunning white that blew strong in the wind to make a sail for the decorative ship, the headstone was now grey and sodden. Wet, damp, sunken. No more.</p><p>Again, he dragged himself up and continued through the graveyard.</p><p>“The king has sent his daughter. To fetch a pail of water.” His voice got more crackly as he continued, no longer the sweet tune he had had before.</p><p>“A tissue, a tissue. We all fall down.” He had skipped and had skipped and then he had tripped. He fell down upon a grave, the ornate headstone built of grey marble to withstand the toll of time in front of him. He peered at it, staring intently to locate the name and date.</p><p>
  <em> Tom Riddle, Senior. Death - August 1943. </em>
</p><p>He let out a loud laugh, disturbing all the wildlife that had not yet fled from his previous singing. His laughs stopped abruptly as he arose once more.</p><p>“The robin on the steeple. Is singing to the people,” he sang quietly. He had to concentrate to get the coffin out perfectly. </p><p>With all his concentration, he silently commanded it to arise and appear in front of him. The once illustrious oak wood, now mottled and rotting after so many years in the damp, dark ground creaked slightly as it shifted.</p><p>He cracked open the coffin. Inside was the skeleton, untouched for fifty years, the bones a stark white against the sludge brown interior.</p><p>He reached in and grabbed the femur. The longest <em> and </em> the strongest bone of them all. It would remain firm in the face of adversity and remain strong when bearing down.</p><p>
  <em> Perfect. </em>
</p><p>He spun around, leaving the coffin open, the rest of the remains untouched. It could all be left to the wild foxes desperate for any scraps to eat. They might as well have whatever was left. He didn’t need anything else, he had what he required.</p><p>He left the graveyard, skipping once more. </p><p>“A tissue, a tissue. We all fall down,” he sang as he skipped. His green eyes illuminating the otherwise dark night. </p><p>Harry Potter was no more than a shell now, his valiant efforts to save Ginevra had been all for nought, but Voldemort would rise again.</p>
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